Pencil Kisses
by JustTellHer
Summary: He's not sure she even realizes she's doing it, but it's driving him crazy, and he's not sure how much more he can take before he reacts. Set in Season 9.


**A/N: This started out as a short drabble, but quickly morphed into an actual story. It's inspired by the new recurring character of Season 9, Ziva's pencil. :P Hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to NCIS or any of the characters mentioned here. Not even Ziva's pencil. **

****zTz

It had started to become a habit of hers, that pencil. Ironically, he was pretty sure the wooden yellow instrument had been there ever since she had returned to NCIS, an untouched archaic figure among all the highlighters, pens, and mechanical pencils in her desk organizer. However, this past summer she had started to use it occasionally, seeming to enjoy the old fashioned feel of writing with it, and the habit had only progressed from there.

At first, she would merely tap the pencil against her chin or her desk while perusing a case file or sorting through a suspect's records. Then, the pencil had started to become more of an extension of her. She used it to forcefully prod McGee away from her desk after he had attempted to steal her stapler. The younger agent had complained about a small eraser shaped bruise for the following week after, and Tony had made it a point to stay clear of the ex-assassin's office supplies for fear of the same treatment. After all, an angry ninja was one thing, but Ziva with a pencil was another level of danger entirely. Surprisingly, however, Ziva didn't seem inclined to lash out belligerently at him with the writing instrument; rather, she began to form her current habit with it. The habit of touching him.

It began slowly; she had tapped it lightly to his lips as she expressed her concern about his actions over the summer, but he had been too wrapped up in his undercover work and tracking down EJ to pay much attention to the small gesture or read too much into her word choice. After that, the pencil had gone back to its innocuous uses for months, well except for its use as a weapon-really the Probie didn't learn very fast sometimes-and Tony only peripherally noticed its existence. Then Ray had proposed, and he had found himself leaning against her desk, a dull ache in his chest at the thought of her impending nuptials and a determination to be supportive of her decision none the less, when she had looked up at him with an expression he couldn't name and tapped his nose with the pencil. The action had caused the appendage to tingle and had apparently brought the antique object out of retirement because her use of it since then had only escalated, and the touching was beginning to drive him crazy.

Today, her habit had him especially on edge. Over the past few weeks, it seemed that her pencil practically had a mind of its own, and one that was apparently incapable of not touching him. If he was by her desk, the pencil flipped out to touch his hand; it tapped his cheek as she brushed by him after they briefed Gibbs in front of the monitors, or the eraser would place a quick peck against his forehead when he teased her as she stood by his desk searching through the adjoining cabinet. And then there was the way she had taken to pressing the pencil against her lips after the action, almost as if she was trying to transfer the contact to herself.

Equally frustrating was his inability to pinpoint why this violation of his personal space bothered him so much. He and Ziva invaded each other's individual bubbles with such frequency it was practically a staple of their daily interactions; so really there was no logical reason for the simple touch a pencil to make his skin burn and his chest tighten. Yet it did, and honestly he was a little worried about the physical response that she evoked in him with it.

He stared across the bullpen at her, the crossword they had been racing each other on while waiting for Gibbs to return laying forgotten in front of him. Why was this pencil touching bothering him so much? He watched as she quickly scribbled in an answer, her intense concentration allowing him time to watch her openly. The pencil paused in mid air as she reached what he assumed was a difficult clue. Then slowly, her focus never faltering, she brought the pencil to her lips, the very same pencil that had been lengthily pressed against his own lips just a few minutes before as she had explained the rules of their crossword race. The action made his head spin slightly.

Fixated, he continued to scan her features, feeling his pulse rise as she began to absentmindedly roll the pencil across her lips. Soft, full pink lips that Tony was only just starting to admit to himself that he wanted to feel against his again after six long years. The pencil continued to roll back and forth, and he gulped.

Dammit, he was jealous of a pencil. What was wrong with him today?

Maybe this had been her plan all along, to drive him to distraction so that she could win their race, but that didn't explain all of her other touching over the previous weeks. No, this was something else, something more. It was almost like she wanted to touch him, couldn't help touching him, and maybe didn't even know she was doing it. The idea sent a thrill through him. Frowning at the paper in front of her, she bit down lightly on the eraser now, and he felt his stomach flutter mildly.

God, he really wanted to be that pencil right now.

Because when he was honest with himself lately, he wanted something more with his Israeli partner, and he was beginning to think maybe she did too. Yet Ray had only recently exited her life, and he was trying to give her space and time to get over the scumbag. He didn't want to rush this, and well, he was still mildly terrified of even attempting to act on his feelings. It all felt too new, too fragile, even though it had been almost seven years in the making.

However, she was making it very difficult for him to keep his distance at the moment.

He fixated on the pencil that had returned to pressing lightly against her lips, wondering what would happen if he began to retaliate. After all if she could steal a touch, then so could he. It wasn't fair if she was the only one doing the distracting. A small grin formed on his face, he imagined what would happen if he just walked over and...

SMACK

A sharp pain in the back of his head startled him back to reality. Blinking rapidly, he leaned back quickly as Gibbs came barreling by his desk.

"You lose your hearing while I was gone DiNozzo?" the silver haired agent barked, heading toward the stairwell, "I said go home. Case is finished."

"Yes boss; right away boss," he called after him, running a hand across the stinging portion of his skull. He glanced back across the bullpen at his now smirking partner.

"I take it that I won, yes?" she sauntered over to his desk, placing the nearly completed crossword next to his blank one. "It seems your head was stuck in space." She perched herself on the edge of his desk, the pencil resting lightly against her lips as she studied him.

"Clouds, stuck in the clouds," he corrected automatically, and she gave a small shrug in response.

"Whatever," she leaned forward, and his heart rate jumped erratically at her proximity. She flipped the pencil against his lips again, "Either way it means you are buying the drinks tonight, correct?"

Then she was moving back to her desk to collect her things, and he let out a rush of air he had been holding in. The touching was going to kill him; pencils were definitely not supposed to affect people like that. Yet determined to ignore his sudden spike in blood pressure, he slowly gathered his things and crossed the bullpen to his partner's waiting form.

"Of course I'm buying the drinks, Agent David," he grinned down at her expectant stare, "A DiNozzo never backs out of a bet."

"Oh really?" she challenged, her brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Well then, let us go," she tapped the pencil against his cheek, and he swallowed hard, "I am quite thirsty."

She brushed past him, and he stared after her briefly before glancing down at the innocent looking pencil now laying on her desk, his pulse pounding lightly in his ears. Seriously, that thing was dangerous. The elevator dinged, and he heard Ziva give a small laugh,

"Tony? I do believe getting drinks requires us to leave the building, does it not?"

He gave a nervous laugh.

Oh screw it.

He grabbed the pencil and stuffed it in his coat pocket, jogging toward the elevator with a determined smirk.

Two could play this game.

zTz

**A/N: To be continued... ;) Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed please hit the little button below and review. :D The next part should be up within a day or so. **


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